Black Ice
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Post-S4, EP 13. C.J., after returning from her Dayton, OH trip, stops by the National Mall late one night to get a grip on some things. She and Toby talk about her dad, their lives, and if they're doing okay. '"For all the work we put into trying to make this country run smoothly, our own personal lives can never reflect that," C.J. mused.' C.J. and Toby!Friendship.


**_Soli Deo gloria_**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The West Wing. Or the Grinch. **

**Toby and C.J.'s friendship over the course of the show is so underrated. They're like brother and sister/work colleagues who are there just to ask, "How are you doing?" and _mean _it.**

No staff member, Senior or otherwise, got out of the White House until past two AM the next day. The embassy crisis was contained, dealt out to the press like pieces of pie into the hands of greedy, whiny children, and the White House, for the first time in two days, let out a long breath. It wasn't a sigh of relief. This wasn't over. Nothing was ever really over—no one could rest when crisis rose up so easily one after another. No end—just pauses—just bare moments to take a deep breath.

Toby, bundled in his trench coat as his hands buried themselves into his pockets, didn't drive his car home. He knew he should go home—long day (_long _coupla days)—and he had to be back there at six the next morning. But he wasn't really gonna go home when he knew someone else had left the White House and didn't exactly make a straight beeline for home, either.

The Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool was the full and long title of the big rectangular pool the nineteen-foot statue of Lincoln stared out of his memorial at for eternity. It accrued a ridiculous crowd of visitors every year, no matter what each day held—no political or weather event could keep the crowds away. Yet, that deep, dusky January night, of all the hundreds of thousands people bubbling in and out of Washington, only one lone figure stood at the side of the pool. It was a tall, solid figure that should've been slouched after the rough day of hits she took from the media. But no—if C.J. Cregg ever did anything, she stood tall.

It was a healthy walk from his parked car, but Toby didn't regret it. C.J. made no indication she heard him approach but he got to see her face coming from her side. Her face was drawn with melancholy as she stared blankly over the beautiful reflecting pool.

"I've got an idea," she finally said loudly, as her breath caught in a cloud against the sub-freezing temperature.

"Maybe get inside, out of the cold? Not catch hypothermia?" Toby suggested, shrinking his head against his shoulders. "'Cause if you get sick, I'm sorry—I can't; I can't play Press Secretary anymore. I'm up there with Josh—he and I will freely admit it—we _can't _do your job—we don't want to, we actually _cannot_. You are better than us—you are the only reason this administration keeps treading water—"

"I was gonna say to steer some of this year's budget reform in government spending toward commissioning some benches to put around the Mall so I don't have to stand here, but I'm all for hearing you admit you have fault. Please, continue the list—I'm the only reason we as an administration haven't drowned yet—?"

Tony might've been freezing his tail off but he smiled anyway. "You let me ramble on."

"I'm cold. I'm on edge," C.J. said sharply.

Toby's smile disappeared. "Yeah, you are." He looked away and stared out at the black water below them—coated in a thick layer of solid ice. "How's your dad, C.J.?"

C.J. sucked in a breath. The cold air lit her chest on fire. "I lied to you that whole trip, Toby. He isn't fine. He isn't doing great. He's doing . . . worse than I imagined. He's doing terrible."

"How so?"

"He—he's in the early stages of Alzheimer's, Toby."

"Ceej—I'm sorry. That's truly terrible. I'm sorry to hear that."

C.J. bit her lip. "He—he's getting _worse_, the symptoms are _worse_ than ever. His wife left him. Like, actually left him. Like, I had to almost physically _drag her back _into his life because she couldn't handle it. I'm sorry, I've never been married, but I'm pretty sure 'In sickness, in health' are traditional vows."

"In my experience, they are."

"Yeah, so I'm going to be making a hell of a lot more trips up there, whether he likes it or not—'cause he's convinced, like _actually _convinced that this administration won't survive without me—he can't accept it, Toby. He will barely accept that he has this disease that will consume who he is and he won't even know it. Why won't he just accept it!" C.J. cut herself off, stamping her foot and letting out a yell.

Toby scratched the tip of his shoe against the gravel. "You can do better than that," he said quietly.

"Better than what? Toby, c'mon; _please _make some sense."

"If you're gonna scream, go ahead and scream," Toby said, looking up. He shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Some Secret Service agent could run over here and point a gun at you; how about that? What the hell you think they're gonna do when they hear a woman's scream?"

"Hopefully assume I scream like a girl and instead point their gun at _you_," Toby said, like, _obviously_.

C.J. gave him such an incredulous look before looking out at the unfeeling expanse of soulless black ice and letting out a frustrated yell. It wasn't necessarily high-pitched or frightened. It was guttural, hurt, and angry. She threw out some yells from deep inside her chest, let it all go into the black night 'til it wasn't inside her anymore.

When her voice petered out, Toby wondered, "Feel any better?"

C.J. rubbed a hand against her throat. She'd feel sore as a consequence tomorrow, but the benefits she reaped from it outweighed the cost. "Maybe a little," she said. She sighed and said, waving a hand, "Since I'm in a complaining mood, I wanted to come down and feed the ducks tomorrow. I love feeding the ducks. I used to do it all the time when we first came to Washington, in the spring. But then I realized something. You know what I realized?"

"What did you realize?"

"There aren't any ducks in Washington right now! It's the middle of January! It's freezing cold out here! All the ducks flew south for the winter! There—aren't—any—ducks!"

"Well, I'm glad you finally came around on the whole 'It's freezing out here' thing," Toby said, taking a step back as he hugged his coat tighter.

"Have you heard a single word I've said?" C.J. demanded to know.

"Yes, Claudia Jean, I've heard every word," Toby said seriously.

C.J. met his eyes. "I know you have. I'm sorry. Thank you for listening." He nodded his head and she asked as a reciprocal move, "How's your life going?"

"Besides the fact that my ex-wife is carrying our two babies and she won't let me make an honest woman of her? Oh, and the fact that Will Bailey is ten times more anxiety-ridden than Sam ever was and makes me feel that tenfold dealing of anxiety every second I spend in his presence? Nothing, everything's perfect, never been better."

"For all the work we put into trying to make this country run smoothly, our own personal lives can never reflect that," C.J. mused.

"How can they? Between your dad's inability to cope with his Alzheimer's diagnosis, my dad being a murderer, Sam's dad having an ongoing affair for _years _his son had no idea about, Josh's dad suddenly dropping dead, and the President's abusive father taking out all his personal issues on his son, how can they? The country's being run by a bunch of kids playing at being adults. We're all just trying to make the President proud, like he's our dad. And he's just trying to make his abusive dead father proud. It's a never-ending cycle. We're all screwed over with daddy issues," Toby said roughly.

C.J. let the air clear a second before saying, "What about Leo? Don't say something like he never knew his father, like the guy skipped out on his mother before he was born. Share something positive."

"Alcoholic." Toby would've snapped his fingers if his fingers weren't so arthritic. "Not saying being an alcoholic is hereditary, but nurture can overpower nature." Then, he inhaled deeply. "C.J., I just want to be there for my kids," he said finally, sighing. "My father wasn't there for me growing up. I just want to be there for them. You," he waved a hand at her, "are flipping the script, being there for your father. I think that's great. I think he should be very proud of his daughter."

"I hope Andy sees what kind of man you really are, Tobias Ziegler," C.J. said. She wiped away at some forming tears and smiled at him, laughing a little as she let the warmth of his powerful words bat away at the cold clinging to her soul. "That under the big grumpy exterior is a big ol' heart."

"Okay, let's not get too sentimental," Toby said, retrieving before further soul-sharing could be had.

"I mean it! A big old heart, Toby Ziegler, you old Grinch!" C.J. said, smiling broadly.

Toby smiled, too. She smiled. That was all his intent was, coming down to the National Mall at 2 AM on a freezing cold January night. "How are you doing, C.J.?" he asked.

C.J. took in a deep breath, but nodded as she said firmly, "I'm doing okay, Toby. I'm doing okay."

"Okay. Good. Good to hear. Now, let's get out of here," Toby said. "Or the ducks will return to some human icicles."

"As if they'd let our dead bodies stay at the National Mall through the spring," C.J. said as they started their stiff walk back to their cars.

"Who knows? I think they'll let those who impact history have their last wishes honored, however weird those last wishes may be. . ."

**They're a fine balance of humanity, honesty, and seriousness. I hope I wrote it well.**

**Thanks for reading! Review?**


End file.
